


i will always land on you like a sucker punch

by thewriterofperfectdisasters



Series: Fall Out Boy Fic February 2015~ [9]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Brief mentions of Bipolar, Canon Compliant, M/M, also i lost my original train of thought..., i dont think this makes sense, my physics teachers would be proud, somewhat introspective, there are probably plot holes?, this took an abruptly science-type turn, underage bc this starts season 1 and iAN'S NOT FUCKING 18 YET???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:23:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewriterofperfectdisasters/pseuds/thewriterofperfectdisasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher was like a blow to the head, leaving Mickey dazed and sometimes confused, but mostly; Ian left Mickey feeling safe and happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i will always land on you like a sucker punch

**Author's Note:**

> still going strong with the fall out boy lyrics, so title is from 'novocaine'.

At first, the words _“I want the gun back, Mickey,”_ didn’t seem to mean much, but really, they were a precursor for the rest of Mickey’s life. Taking the fucking gun had been the result of a whim and a want for barbeque Pringles. Kash pointed the thing at him, Mickey rolled his eyes and reached out and grabbed the barrel, pulling the gun from Kash’s weak grasp.

As Mickey walked home, Pringles, dip and Gatorade in his box, and his new toy tucked into the waistband of his jeans, he hadn’t really considered that Kash had an employee with too much courage to fit into his skinny body.

Ian goddamn Gallagher.

Mickey was dozing after hitting the bottle a bit too hard the previous night, and was unceremoniously woken up by the string cheese boy poking him in the back with a tyre iron. Who the fuck did this idiot think he was, coming into the Milkovich house and demanding a stolen gun be returned? No one got their guns back from a Milkovich.

Ian was nothing but insistent and repeated, ‘The gun.’

Mickey made like he was going to retrieve the weapon from wherever the fuck he had stashed it (a drawer, to the best of his memory), but turned at the last second and crashed into Ian.

They fought, and Mickey wrestled the iron from the younger boy’s fingers, smashing him into the wall, and forcing him onto the bed to straddle him. He raised the iron with one hand, and gripped onto Gallagher’s collar with the other, fully prepared to bash his head in with it.

But then Ian turned his face to glance up at Mickey, somehow managing to look curious and challenging at the same time. _Do it._ Ian’s eyes flicked between the iron and Mickey’s face, and _fuck_ , Mickey was doomed.

He dropped the makeshift weapon and rolled off him, ripped his tank up and over his head, as Ian rid himself of the fifty fucking layers he was wearing. Jesus, he wasn’t going fast enough for Mickey’s liking, and it didn’t even occur to him that he was about to fuck this kid with his father in the next room over. He was fucking glad his door was shut, and maybe that was why he had let Ian finger him quickly, before roughly shoving himself into Mickey’s ass. Maybe he felt like this was a bubble, and he could almost fool himself into thinking he wasn’t in the same house as Terry.

Ian slammed into him, targeting Mickey’s prostate like he was born to do it, and God knew how fucking good it felt to be on the receiving end of it. Mickey had been with a few guys, yeah – weak, spineless shitheads who wouldn’t dare speak out – but none of them knew what they were doing compared to Ian goddamn Gallagher. Kid was a fucking pro at this. Mickey hadn’t come that hard in a very long time, if _ever_ , so there was no fucking chance he was gonna let it walk away from him.

Ian Gallagher was like a blow to the head, leaving Mickey dazed and sometimes confused, but mostly; Ian left Mickey feeling safe and happy. It was a new feeling for Mickey, who was used to a rush of adrenaline flooding his veins, along with a healthy dose of fear and anxiety that Terry would come looking for him.

That was something else about Ian. He didn’t scare Mickey, with his openness, and happy as fuck demeanour. He also wasn’t scared _of_ Mickey, and didn’t care if he let his walls down. Ian fucking _loved_ Mickey’s walls crumbling to ruins. He didn’t make fun of Mickey for saying shit in the heat of the moment, didn’t push him to say it any time when they weren’t fucking. He let Mickey be Mickey, and that was something that contributed to Mickey’s utter contentment when he was around Ian.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

That didn’t mean that they fucked in Mickey’s house, or Ian’s house, or anywhere there would be other people. They felt safe, but that didn’t mean they _were_ safe. They stuck to places like the freezer of the Kash ‘n’ Grab – a spot quickly scratched off the list after Frank found them – or the dugout at the baseball diamond.

The dugout was especially good to fuck in on summer nights, with a lazy breeze blowing in through the chain link barrier that stood between them and the outside world. Mickey could do stuff with that fence. Ian could _help_ him do stuff with that fence. Bend over and thread his fingers through the cool metal, or reach up with one arm to help hold him up, with his legs wrapped around Ian’s waist, and his other arm around Ian’s shoulders, digging his nails in like it would keep him from floating into the stratosphere. Maybe holding on so he wouldn’t explode and dissipate, blending in with the particles in the air and moving around in the Brownian motion. Maybe Ian would keep him together.

In the long run, Ian was the _only_ thing keeping Mickey together.

They had gotten reckless. Mickey had kissed Ian, and he would probably put it down to the lingering effects of Ian’s lips on his, that he invited Ian to stay at his house instead of the group home.

Excuse him if he didn’t want his more-than-a-fuck-buddy to be in a place that was full of guys who would use him as their personal punching bag if they found out he gave, and occasionally _took_ , it up the ass.

No, Mickey would rather risk someone coming home and finding Ian in his bed, his arms. Fucking ginger asshole had wormed his way into Mickey and turned him softer than fucking marshmellow.

Fucking Terry just had to come home early, didn’t he?

Well. They don’t talk about what came after that. They don’t talk about a lot of things that happened after that, because Ian left, and Mickey lost his sense of safety, gained a wife, and hated every single fucking thing about it.

Ian Gallagher changed.

He was no longer that string cheese boy who poked Mickey with a tyre iron, he was a man with a nicely filled out body, a matching haircut to Mickey’s – fucking ridiculous, how they seemed to think exactly the same, no matter how many fucking miles apart they were – and he was a man that had lost part of himself.

At first, Mickey didn’t even care, because Ian – _his_ Ian was back – and that was all he really wanted. All he needed. Mickey decidedly ignored how the other Gallagher siblings were worrying that something was up with Ian, and told himself they were wrong, and that Ian was still Ian.

He _was_ still Ian. Maybe Ian with a few tweaks and changes, but he was the same boy Mickey had loved for… years. Since the first time Ian had been a fucking idiot and tried to get a stolen gun back from a Milkovich.

Then it was too late to deny there was something wrong with Ian, because there was definitely something not right about the way he was lying in bed, ignoring Mickey and everyone else for the most part, only speaking up to tell them to go away and leave him alone. Mickey stayed in his corner of ignorance, face to the wall, because Ian was Ian, and he was always okay. Mickey was supposed to be the one fucked up, not Ian. Never Ian.

Then one day, he was fine. He was happy, talking, _eating_. Wanting Mickey. He never stopped wanting Mickey, to the point where he was happy to oblige Ian, but God knew he wanted sleep, too. Ian was like the fucking Energizer bunny, never running out of power, and always up and about and _doing_ something. Cleaning. Looking after the kid. Cooking. Bonding with Mickey’s fucking wife.

Ian was doing things, and Mickey preferred it to the lying around, the crying, the screaming Ian he had become accustomed to recently. Ian was doing things, but then he started doing the wrong things. Stealing suitcase, for one. Making a porno, for the other.

‘You’re sick.’

Mickey said it as it came to his mind. He was having a moment of realisation, while Ian stood there, looking hurt and apparently shocked that Mickey would suggest it. Mickey thought Ian agreed, right up until the point where he heard the front door slam, and saw the car speeding away, Ian at the helm, and Yevgeny, an unwilling passenger.

Mickey wasn’t even sure what the fuck happened with Ian while he was gone. He knew what _he_ had done while Ian was gone, but Ian’s actions were completely foreign territory to him. By this point, he should’ve been able to predict Ian’s moves, but the man he loved had become almost a stranger. He was still Ian, and when it all came down to it, Mickey didn’t care, because he would forgive him the instant he saw Ian. He knew he would. He always had. Recently, though, he had stopped acting out to pretend like he didn’t.

‘I love you.’

Those were the three words he needed Ian to hear, and even if Ian didn’t get to hear them until he was out of the psych ward, they were out in the open, and Mickey felt better telling someone – even if it was only Ian’s voicemail – that he loved him.

He loved Ian so much.

The fact that Ian had bypassed him and headed for the wards, thinking that Mickey would want nothing to do with him, hurt like a punch to the face. Mickey didn’t want him to go away without knowing that he was loved, even if it was just through something like a hug.

The way Ian pressed his face into Mickey’s shoulder and shook through a sob told him that Ian knew. He always had. He had been saying it for years, so really – Ian knew before Mickey did.

As Ian left to go through, Mickey watched the man he loved revert briefly back to the boy he loved. One sure of himself, if not a bit hesitant, but still fucking optimistic that everything would work out in the end.

Mickey had never intended to fall for Ian, but here they were. Everything Ian did had been a dizzying blow to the head, and now, watching Ian walk away, it was a blow to the heart. Ian was supposed to be the stable one, with the supportive family, the legal job, the complete confidence in himself and the way he acted.

Now, after everything had been shredded and torn apart into tiny fragments, loving Ian felt like Mickey’s heart was being crushed. Too much blood was flowing, his heart was contracting too much, and the valves were simultaneously opened and closed. Nothing was happening but everything was happening.

Mickey’s string cheese boy was back in the moment Ian smiled at him through the grated windows, and he was reassuring him that everything would be okay.

They were safe and nothing could touch them here. The only blow Mickey would be getting to the head would be from the way Ian looked at him. They had each other, and that was all they needed.

That was how it had started, and that would be how it would stay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i write a lot from mickey's perspective, don't i? saying that bc i realise that this should probably have been from ian's... whoops.
> 
> sidenote: if you don't know what the brownian motion is, it's that thing that dictates that dust basically doesn't follow a pattern when it moves through the air, aka, it moves completely randomly.


End file.
